


DC18: Disastrous Enterprises

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 14:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: How disastrous can it be to find Heyes in jail?Destiny’s Cycle (DC) follows the Outlaw days.. What does Destiny have in store. Each month, I get a challenge, (this month is a bonus, pulled another old challenge and filled my need to write) and then the cycle continues. You can follow KC, HH, & the gang through their adventures. DC does link together, but some tales stand on their own. Yet, its building its own world history, inside jokes, characters, places, etc. I hope you enjoy DC. Feedback WELCOMED!





	DC18: Disastrous Enterprises

 

 

Disastrous Enterprises

 

 

 

 

Standing on the corner, opposite the jail, Wheat said, “Lobo, go check inside.”

“Me!?”

“You got the shortest wanted poster, most likely ain’t even posted.”

Frowning deeply, but unable to find an argument, Lobo rode across and taking a breath, swung down. He eyed the large sign reading ‘Tin Marshal’s Office’ and with a sigh, headed for the door.

Inside, the warmth enveloped him, setting his face to tingling. On the desk was a tin of Coleman’s mustard powder and a large Mason jar, most likely, filled with honey. But, no Marshal, or even a deputy in sight. Lobo’s mouth puckered and he scratched at his backside.

“You planning on standing there scratching yourself ‘till they return from morning services?”

 Spinning about, he found Hannibal Heyes, with his forearms propped against the bars of his cell. “Howdy. Where’s the keys?”

“In that little safe behind the desk.”

“Where’s your lock picks?”

“Same place.”

Lobo blinked, “all of’em!?”

“Let’s say, Marshal Sloan was thorough in his search, after catching me using them on the Druggist door.”

“You got caught stealing drugs?”

“Hadn’t made it that far,” Heyes replied with a snide smile, “And, appreciate you not spreading that about.”

Lobo walked closer, “What you want us to do?” He hitched a thumb toward the door, “Wheat and Kyle is outside with the horses; we could try to pull the window off your cell.”

“No. Too noticeable, the wall faces the street.”

“Should I find something else, you can use to pick the lock?”

“This Marshal isn’t the trusting sort.” Heyes replied, pointing up at his cell door, where a chain and lock were wrapped. “Wouldn’t do no good, nothing in here for me to stand on to reach it.”

“Well, ain’t that dirty of ‘em.”

“I was thinking clever,” Heyes sighed, “But, I suppose, I could be encouraged to see your way of it.” Pushing off the bars, he said, “Go see if Kyle has a stick in his saddlebags.”

“Thought you told him not to do that no mores.”

“I did.” Heyes smiled hugely, “also know, Kyle doesn’t always listen when it comes to dynamite.”

With a shrug, Lobo went outside, and waved his pals over, “Only Heyes in there and he wants to know, if’n your carrying a stick.”

Kyle sat still, taking great interest in the lasso ring on the shoulder of his saddle.

“He seems to think, the answer is yes.”

Exhaling heavily, Wheat said, “One day, you’re gonna blow yourself ‘sky high’. Hopefully, you don’t take none of us with you.”

“Ain’t as dangerous as people think.”

Lobo stepped closer, barking, “Kyle! You got it or not?”

Twisting in his seat, Kyle unbuckled a saddle bag flap. Rummaging about, he removed a box not much bigger than a single stick and sliding the lid off; he extended a long, cloth wrapped object to Lobo.

“I don’t want that…” he shoved his hands behind his back, “Heyes does.”

Seeing where this was going, Kyle returned the stick to its box, and slid from his saddle.

Stepping out of his way, Lobo said, “You go on.” He glanced up at Wheat, “We’ll stay on watch out here.”

Hustling through the door, Kyle released a delighted smile, “Howdy, Heyes.”

“Howdy to you.” Nodding toward the box, Heyes dryly stated, “See, you're breaking rules again.”

“Ain’t that what rules are for, must be…” Kyle tilted his head, his smile full of laughter, “or, you wouldn’t be where you are.”

A low baritone laugh filled the room and with a grunt, Heyes replied, “Guess I am calling the kettle black.”

Rolling his wad of chaw to his cheek, Kyle’s smile took on a life of its own, as he moved toward the cell, “you wantin’ me to blow the door.”

Heyes yelped, “No!!” Backing up, holding his hands out, his face alive with worried fear.

Kyle deflated, his smile slipping away, “Is ya wantin’ me to blow anything at all?”

Heyes jabbed toward the Marshal’s desk, “the safe.”

Kyle yelped, “A safe!” The puppy dog, overzealous, smile back in place. Strutting over, he took off his hat, removing a fuse line from inside the sweatband.

“That isn’t where you, regularly, keep the fuses?” Heyes asked, thinking they may not be of the best quality when _he_ required them.

“Oh no,” Kyle replied, “only my special ones for _me._ ”

Heyes’ shoulders rose and he hitched his thumbs in his pant’s waistband.

Squatting, Kyle scrutinized the safe and crawling back to the Marshal’s desk, rifled the drawers, finding a ball of rawhide ties. “Just what I need.” Using a couple, he secured the single stick to the handle, and dug in his vest pocket for a match. Holding it up, he looked back at Heyes, “Shame, a safe and ya can’t try ya hand at it.”

“It is a crying shame,” Heyes answered, backing from the bars. “Let me get down behind the mattress before you light it.”

Kyle laughed, “Suppose it’d be ironic if’n ya was killed by a safe.”

Heyes had the mattress in his hands and turned about, “Ironic? Where’d you learn that?”

“From you on the White Pine job.”

Heyes tilted his head, “but… you alerted that nosy Sheriff, so we weren’t able to pull the job.”

Kyle looked sheepish, “Yeah…” then he shrugged, “that’s when ya said it was ironic I was still alive.”

“Been times the thought crossed my mind.”

“Well, that time, ya said it out loud and right front of the whole gang.”

A tight, crooked grin twisted the lower half of Heyes’ face, “I did, did I?”

“Uh hum, none of the boys knew what you meant… not even, Kid. So, I up and asked Lottie, when we was there and she told me, it meant how folks would not think it to be.”

Heyes nodded, “And…?”

“I thought on it, figured ya was right.”

Moving to the furthest spot in his cell, Heyes crouched down, “Go on and take the honey and mustard powder with you, would hate this all to be for nothing.”

“It ain’t for nuthin’” Kyle grinned, “I get to blow a safe.” He struck the match, “Make sure ya stay down don’t want folks sayin’ ya ending was ironic.”

With a roll of his eyes, Heyes growled, “Thanks, Kyle,” ducking under the flimsy mattress.

To the hissing of the fuse, Kyle darted from the building, the Mason jar and tin gripped to his chest, “It’s gonna blow---“

“ _Sky high_.” Lobo grumbled, twisting the reins, of the four horses he was holding, tighter.

“Where’s Wheat?”

But, in that moment, it blew… loud, thunderous, vibrating the ground. A smoking plume spun into the air, through the back portion of the blasted building. There was a high pierced whistling sound and the whirling keys plunked in the dirt before Wheat, who had just maneuvered a wagon up.

“Hey, it’s the keys.” Kyle laughed, bending to retrieve them. “Uh, Wheat what’s the wagon for?”

“You’ll see,” Wheat answered, taking the goods from Kyle and shoving them at Lobo. “Go see if our illustrious leader is alive.”

Nodding, Kyle ran in, as Wheat snagged the lanterns from the shepherd hooks planted on either side of the steps.

Lobo struggled with their crazed horses, shoving the medical supplies in his saddle bag, “Wheat, we better hurry, sounds like we shook the town out of the church.”

And, from inside, they heard Kyle holler, “Heyes, you alive?”

From beneath rubble, which was rolling off the mattress, Heyes appeared, his mouth dropping open at how an entire side was missing from the Marshal’s office. Shaking his head, he shouted, “Jehoshaphat, Kyle, what sort of dynamite you using?” Shaking his head a second time and grimacing at the sharp ringing, he dug in his ear with a finger.

“One of my purty fat boys,” Kyle jangled the keys, “We get ‘em in a box, every so often, and I save ‘em back.”

“Kyle Murtry, you really are a disastrous enterprise,” Heyes hollered, digging in his other ear. While pointing with his free hand at the chain and lock about the top part of his cell door, he demanded, “grab that chair, and get me the hell out of here.”

“No reason to get proddy.” Kyle whined, dragging the chair across the destroyed office. He peered up at the lock, “Is the one in the door broken?”  

“Marshal Sloan, must of figured it was good as broke with me.” Heyes grinned, swiping his hat from the floor and blowing dust from it. “He sure did laugh good and hard, when he put that lock out of my reach.”

“Suppose ‘n it would of gone better for ‘em, if’n he hadn’t done that.”

From outside, Lobo’s voice roared, “Y’all might want to hurry the hell up.”

And, looking toward the door, they both watched a flaming wagon roll past.

“What are they up to?” Heyes muttered, exiting the cell. “Thanks, Kyle, really do appreciate it.”

“I’d do it again, it were fun.”

Eyeballing him, Heyes leapt over fallen boards and around the tossed desk to where the safe had been.

“What you lookin’ for?”

“My rig,” and sighting the little safe laying out in the dirt alley, he climbed through the shattered wall. Almost stepping on his gun rig, lying twisted at his feet like a dead snake. Grabbing it, he strapped it on, while trotting toward the safe. Glinting in the light, a good distance away, he spied one bunch of his lock picks; however, it was his Schofield he wanted most.

When, Wheat came flying around the smoking building, his muscular sorrel snorting and jumping, with Clay swinging wide on his taunt rein, behind him, he bawled, “Blazes, Heyes, shake a leg. That wagon hit the mercantile. Some of them folks have started a water brigade; but them that are still coming, are bristling with firearms. And, look raring to use’em.”

Seeing a pistol sticking out from under the safe, Heyes barreled into the little square, toppling it over and nabbing his Schofield, slammed it in its skid. Spinning, he latched hold of his rein, hitting a stirrup as Lobo and Kyle raced by, “Wooo weee, here they come.”

However, it was not a point which needed announcing, because the angry bark of firearms could be heard even louder than Kyle’s words.

Slamming their heels to their horses, the keyed up animals took off like they were going to be cougar feed, if they did not.

In a scrambling, lunging run they clambered up a twisting elk trail into the mountains and when the four of them made it to a ridge, above the tree line, they pulled their blowing mounts up.

Looking down on Tin, the townsfolk were zipping about like a knocked over termite mound. Heyes frowned, his eyes going to the destroyed jail and the flames Tin’s citizens were trying to keep from spreading.

Standing closest, Wheat whistled, “thinking we should remove Tin from our list of places to visit.”

Heyes’ head turned slowly, until he was looking straight at Wheat and rolling his eyes, said, “Come on boys, let’s head home.” 

 

 

 


End file.
